


Ever Since We Met (You've Had A Hold On Me)

by questceque_cest



Category: Glee
Genre: Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Fic Exchange, Hand Jobs, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, POV Third Person, Season/Series 02, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questceque_cest/pseuds/questceque_cest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Season Two. </p><p>Blaine cannot fathom why exactly Kurt is such close friends with the dumbly auspicious Sam Evans until all is revealed at a sleepover weekend with the Hummel-Hudson's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever Since We Met (You've Had A Hold On Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edwardina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/gifts).



> Written for [teenvomitfetishist](http://teenvomitfetishist.tumblr.com) as part of the Canoe Secret Santa for the prompt "Kum through Blaine’s perspective." 
> 
> Merry Christmas, darling, and I hope you enjoy <3

Blaine rolled his neck, shoulders shrugging as they gave a satisfying crack. He wet his lips with his tongue, twice, before carding his fingers through the top of his hair, taking painstaking efforts in flattening any loose curls that were trying to escape the hold of his gel. Before adjusting his Dalton tie, Blaine drew his pocket watch from his slacks, sighing as the hands indicated that Kurt was almost ten minutes late for his first day at the academy. 

Honestly, Blaine thought this display was a bit rude, seeing as how he had arrived at school extra early that morning in preparation of giving his infamous “Welcome to Dalton” tour. He exhaled deeply, disappointed that the other boy would lose track of time, but perhaps he was stuck in traffic; Lima _was_ almost two hours away. Blaine was nothing if not fair, giving others the benefit of the doubt. 

The clicking from his loafers echoed through the vast Dalton halls that were completely evacuated before first period. Blaine headed towards his classroom, upset his plans were thwarted by Kurt’s inability to be punctual, when he heard an unceremoniously loud bang from the thick, oak doors down the corridor. He abruptly turned, eyebrows raised as Kurt came crashing down the hall, hair flying out of place and cheeks wind blown. 

“Blaine, I’m so sorry,” Kurt panted, stopping to catch his breath as he took in large gasps of air. “I was a bit preoccupied this morning.” 

Blaine pouted, pulling his watch from his pocket once again. “Kurt, I understand your nerves and such at attending a new school, but being tardy is an attribute highly frowned upon at Dalton.” He gave a warmer, more encouraging smile. “I’ll let it pass this time, though. But, I do have to say I’m disheartened that you missed my tour.” 

Kurt chuckled softly. “I apologize, profusely. We’ll have to take the tour at a later scheduled time.” Kurt’s face fell sullen as he nervously twisted his fingers. “No, but I was late because of Karofsky. Or, more accurately, something he did recently.” 

“Tell me what happened,” Blaine said tersely. “I swear to god if he threatened you,” he glared, placing a soothing hand on Kurt’s shoulder. 

Kurt waved him off, shaking his head. “No, nothing to me this time. There’s this boy at school -- well, McKinley I suppose --, named Sam, who’s kind of my friend. Anyway, he stood up to Karofsky on my behalf and got the daylights punched out of him a couple weeks ago. Apparently Sam’s eye is still pretty swollen shut, so he called me this morning asking for tips to reducing the puffiness, given my extensive knowledge regarding skin care regiments.” 

Blaine hummed thoughtfully, turning to inspect Kurt’s face to judge the accuracy of his statement. “Well, I can confirm that Sam did call the right person. That’s so nice of him to stand up to someone as monstrous as Karofsky. He’s very courageous.” 

“That he is,” Kurt said, still wringing his hands. “He’s really sweet, actually. And, I dunno.” He trailed off, his voice becoming almost wistful. 

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, lips turning into a frown. Concerned, he knitted his brows together. “You’re safe now, Kurt. You know that, right?” 

Kurt let a small stream of breath pass through his lips. “Of course. It’s just that I am going -- I do miss everyone at McKinley.” He flashed Blaine a small smile before saying, “Especially Sam.” 

The warning bell chimed through the corridors, signaling the start of homeroom and beginnings of the national anthem. 

“We’re going to be late. Come on,” Blaine gasped, gripping Kurt’s elbow and hauling him towards their classroom. He looked back, making sure Kurt was following behind. Blaine felt his stomach drop, though, when he noticed Kurt’s face was distant and unreadable and not ecstatic given his new surroundings. Chalking it up to nerves and the pressures of fitting in, Blaine suppressed his woe and carried on towards first period. 

 

\---

 

“No, no, _no_ ,” Blaine grumbled, stomping towards the CD player and jamming his finger on the stop button. “Guys, you’re completely out of sync. You,” he shouted, pointing at a tall freshman in the back, “you’re completely missing your mark. It’s step touch, step touch, double ball change, three rapid pivots _then_ right step. You’re getting it backwards and frankly, you look ridiculous.” 

The Warbler nodded, rubbing his face between his hands. “Sorry, Blaine. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” 

Blaine nodded curtly. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Guys, we need to kill it at Regionals this year. We’re lucky we tied the New Directions at Sectionals, but it was too close for comfort. We need to master our craft to blow the competition away.” 

He turned to face the group of boys, all breathless and looking disconcerted. Blaine folded his arms across his chest, frowning. “Also, you,” he motioned towards a boy in front, “I could hear you distinctly from my left during the bridge of the song. I thought you were designated as a tenor?” 

The boy shook his head, eyes wide. “I was under the impression I was an alto?” 

“Alt--” Blaine paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, regaining his composure. “You’re clearly tenor. Also, you’re too sharp on your high _and_ low notes.” He clapped his hands, jogging towards the CD player. “Look alive, boys. Positions. Ready. 5, 6, 7, 8!” 

He was just about to restart the song when a knock came from other side the rehearsal room. “Ugh,” Blaine scoffed, “what is it?” 

The door opened and a student walked through, looking perplexed. “There’s pizza here for you? Did you guys order something, or is that a mistake?” 

Blaine nodded, heading to his bag and fishing out his wallet. “I did, as a treat for the guys, but that was _before_ I was disappointed by their lack of coordination. In any case, Kurt, wanna come help me carry the boxes?” He grabbed a couple $20 bills and waved to the door. 

Kurt smoothed the wrinkles in his t-shirt. “Do I look presentable?” 

“Of course,” Blaine chided, hints of good natured derision seeping through, “you always do. Now, come.” 

The boys headed down the hall towards the front office of Dalton, where a pizzaman was hauling large boxes from his bag. 

Straightening up, he turned around and said, “That’ll be thirty-fiv--” He halted, instantaneously, when he noticed exactly who was standing in front of him. “Kurt?” 

Blaine looked nonplussed as he watched Kurt’s face transform into a look of wonderment, one of pure joy. 

“Sam!” Kurt gasped, bringing his hands to his face. “What are you _doing_ here? Why are you delivering pizza all the way out in Westerville?” He launched himself forward, enveloping Sam into a tight hug. 

Sam huffed out a laugh, squeezing back. “Dude, you’re going to crush me. No, yeah, I’m just doing it for some extra cash, you know. Plus, I blew a ton of money on video games, so I’ve gotta like, start recouping my losses,” he said, shuffling his feet. 

Blaine frowned as an indiscernible look washed over Sam's face. He knew there was some seedy, underlying issue at hand, but the Warblers desperately needed to get back into places and perfect their harmonies. He cleared his throat, handing the $40 to Sam. 

“Here you go, my good sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the Warblers. But, I’m not discussing why in case this is an elaborate ruse and you’re spying on us on behalf of New Directions.” He clapped Kurt on the shoulder, smiling fondly. “You can catch up with your, er, Sam for a couple minutes, but please try to hurry back.” He nodded and smiled at Sam, heading towards the rehearsal room with half the boxes of pizza. 

Upon his arrival, the Warblers dove at Blaine, pulling slices from their gooey confines of the pizza box. They sat on the hardwood flooring, casually chatting about potential encore numbers to perform should the Warblers take Regionals. Anxious, Blaine watched as the seconds hand on the clock ticked faster and faster. He looked to the door, waiting for Kurt’s return. He had been gone for almost a half an hour, what in god’s name could those two be discussing? 

By the time Kurt came through the rehearsal studio’s doors, his face was bleak, arms weakly holding the pizza boxes in front. Blaine rose up, darting towards the other boy and snatching the boxes from his grasp. 

“I’m not mad,” Blaine started, heading towards the middle of the floor. 

Kurt seemed affronted by the direction of Blaine’s statement, but he let him continue, wordless. He silently followed and sat down, joining the boys. 

“I’m not mad because I understand how much you miss your old friends, especially someone as seemingly close to you as Sam. He seems very pleasant, although his peroxide blond hair leaves something to be desired.” He chuckled to himself, stopping to purse his lips. “That being said, it is almost 8:30 and we still have a lot to go over, especially since you’re one of our featured soloists in our setlist. I know this won’t be a regular occurrence, but if in the future we’re rehearsing and for some reason decide to order pizza and our delivery man just happens to be Sam, please keep the conversation to a minimum. I’d really appreciate it.” 

Kurt nodded, small smile playing on his lips. “Of course. We just lost track of time, there’s been some large dynamic shifts at McKinley, it seems.” 

“Well, we can discuss it after practice. You take a seat, enjoy a slice or two of pizza, and watch us. Please provide any and all critique.” Blaine beamed before running to the front of the room, wrangling all the boys into their places. “Alright, men. We’ve got this. We’re the Warblers. We’re rockstars. Now, take it from the top!” 

 

\---

 

Blaine pulled up in front of Kurt in his mother’s station wagon in the Dalton parking lot, signaling him to open the door and climb aboard. 

Kurt slid inside the car, throwing his school bag and a plastic shopping bag onto the car floor. “I appreciate this, Blaine. My Nav is out of commission for at least a week, and you’re the only person I trust for this request.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Blaine turned to face Kurt, eyes bright. “Oh, a secret mission? Do tell, my curiosity had been piqued.” 

Kurt giggled, adjusting his seatbelt. “Alas, this is not quite as dubious as whatever you’re picturing right now. Actually, it’s, uh.” He bit his lip, fidgeting a bit in his seat. “I talked about this with the person that is involved, and they’re a hundred percent okay with you knowing, provided you not blab to everyone.” 

“You’re making me nervous,” Blaine confessed, his grip on the steering wheel tighten. “Where are you making me drive you?” 

“Motel Six, off of Kennedy Street,” Kurt replied, bending to rummage through the shopping bag. He pulled out slightly worn t-shirts, jeans, and a couple jackets. “These are for Sam. You know, the boy from McKinley? Recently his parents have fallen into financial burden and they...lost their house, and have been living in a motel room.” 

Blaine gasped, breaking at a stoplight. “Oh goodness, that’s horrible. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for him and his family. How many live in the room?” 

Kurt sighed. “Five. Sam, his parents, and his younger brother and sister.”

Cringing, Blaine shook his head sadly. “Such a shame that in this day and age there’s still so much instability in the job market. What are your old clothes for?” He absently reached for a t-shirt and thumbed his between his fingers. 

“Sam needs something to wear, so I offered to lend him some of my last season ensembles. If there is something he’s deemed a bit too outlandish, he pawns them off on his sister, who seems to have an avid eye for fashion. Stacey is going to grow up to be quite the little fashionista,” Kurt chuckled. “Normally, I go over to the motel on nights where Sam doesn’t work or have football, which regrettably is only twice every two weeks, but unfortunately my car broke down. I didn’t want anyone else to take me because they’d all ask questions, prying into why I’m heading to a sleazy motel. You, on the other hand, are far removed from the McKinley elite. Thank you for being an unbiased third party.” 

“My pleasure,” Blaine laughed as he pulled into the motel parking lot. “Really, though, wish Sam and his family all the best from me. I have no doubt that they’ll be able to bounce back. I will wait here for you, take all the time you need.” 

Kurt smiled, stepping out of the car with his clothing bag. “You’re such a great friend, Blaine. I’ll tell Sam you send your love.” 

Blaine watched Kurt bound up the stairs and fervently knock on the door, which flew open to reveal a little boy who thrust himself into Kurt’s waiting arms. Soon after, a little girl joined them, pulling Kurt’s hand and dragging him into the room. Blaine laughed, amused by the children’s display. He flicked through the radio stations, until he reached Vinyl 96.4, the oldies station. 

He grinned to himself as “Leader Of The Pack” began to sound through the speaker system. Blaine turned the dial, increasing the volume as he recited the speaking parts from memory. 

“ ‘ _Is she really going out with him? Well, there she is. Let’s ask her_.’.” With a bit more sass infused in his voice, he continued. “ ‘ _Betty, is that Jimmy’s ring you’re wearing_?’.” 

He continued and began to belt when the lyrics started. He looked a couple car lengths away and noticed a couple staring, looking bewildered. But, honestly? Blaine Anderson did not care what those outsiders thought, and truthfully, they were lucky to witness him perform. People normally _paid_ for that privilege. 

Blaine sang through every song that Vinyl threw at him: “He’s So Fine”, “Mr. Sandman”, “It’s My Party”, “He’s A Rebel”, and “Earth Angel”. By the time “Sh-Boom” had ended, Blaine grew a bit concerned. Kurt had been inside for a very extended period and waiting alone in a cold car was not how Blaine envisioned his evening. 

The station went to commercial break, so Blaine leaned back in his seat, exhaling loudly. “Come on, Kurt,” he said, aloud. He was starting to regret giving Kurt the permission to take all the time he needed. 

Coming back from sponsor messages, the DJ announced the impending playing of Dusty Springfield’s “Wishin’ and Hopin’”. 

“Yes,” Blaine whispered, cranking the volume. This was his jam. 

“ _Wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin'. Plannin' and dreamin' each night of his charms_.” Blaine’s voice rang through the interior of the station wagon, his hands beating rhythmically against the dashboard. 

Promptly at that moment, the motel door swung open and Kurt and Sam moved to the entryway, stopping to talk. Blaine, still singing, watched as the two boys seemed to be enraptured in conversation. Kurt would throw his head back in laughter at Sam’s exaggerated facial gestures, leaning forward to run his hand down Sam’s arm. 

Rolling his eyes, Blaine bitterly chirped along with the song, annoyed that it seemed as though Kurt had no intentions of parting ways in the near future. 

“ _Show him that you care just for him, do the things he likes to do. Wear your hair just for him._ ”

At that line, Blaine scoffed as he looked at Sam, his shockingly blond hair still prominent in the dull yellow of the motel lights. Against his better judgement, Blaine opted not to sound his car horn because that would be the epitome of rude. Besides, it is a motel. People were probably sleeping as it was growing later by the minute. 

Suddenly, Sam leaned forward and bundled Kurt into a long hug, their bodies pressed flush against one another. Kurt leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder, his arms tangled around the other boy’s waist. Blaine looked away, the embracement lasting a couple seconds longer than he anticipated. This moment felt private, one that Blaine shouldn’t be gawking at. 

In turn, he sang his next line a bit softer. “ _So if you're thinkin' of how great true love is, all you gotta do is hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him_.” 

Sam let go of Kurt and pouted, watching the other boy walk down the stairs. Kurt waved sadly and jogged towards Blaine’s car, looking apologetic. 

“Sorry, Stacey wanted to show me some drawings they did at school, and Mrs. Evans insisted I stay for at least a glass of milk, which turned into a second and a third,” Kurt explained as he plunked into his eat, breathless. 

Blaine shrugged. “Don’t worry, I occupied my time quite well.” As he backed out of his parking spot, the final notes of Dusty’s voice radiated through the shell of the car. 

“ _And after you do, you will be his._ ”

 

\---

 

“There you are,” Kurt grinned, striding into the library, his arms full of textbooks. “I’ve been looking for you, I have something I want to ask you.” 

Blaine turned his gaze from _Catcher in the Rye_ in front of him to Kurt’s face, which was flashing an ear-splitting smile. “Yeah? What’s up?” 

“Well,” Kurt began, clearing his throat, “my household is having a little soiree this Friday night and I am cordially inviting you to partake in the events. There will be fine dining, entertainment; the like.” 

Blaine laughed, looking amused. “Colour me intrigued. Is this party fabricated?” He quirked an eyebrow when Kurt groaned, taking a seat across the table. 

“Exaggerated, perhaps. Truth is, my dad and Carole are out of town for the weekend and Finn and I have been granted the opportunity to host a get-together. Finn _insisted_ it be a ‘guys only’ event, hence my extended invitation to you. Please come and save me from Finn and his brood of miscreants.” Kurt pouted, pressing his palms together in silent prayer. 

Snorting, Blaine pushed back in his chair, set down his novel, and crossed his arms against his chest, incredulous. “ _Miscreants_? Sounds a bit harsh,” he countered, smirking. 

“Fine, fine,” Kurt grumbled. He pointed his finger at Blaine, menacingly. “Puck excluded, though. He can be somewhat of a ruffian when prompted. In any case, it’s a sleepover and I would love to show you off to my Lima friends. I mean, they’ve heard so much about you, and vice versa, so mixing my friend groups is simply natural progression.” 

Blaine hummed. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, Kurt. I’m honoured you’d consider including me for this event. Do I need to bring any sort of entertainment?” 

Kurt scrunched up his face, shaking his head. “No, no, just yourself will suffice. You can come at 6-ish or something. Whenever is fine.” He breathed out a sigh of relief slumping down in his chair. “I was so nervous when Finn insisted on my involvement in a ‘bros’ shindig, but it’s sweet that he wants me there. I think he misses me,” he mused, laughing. 

“I assume Sam will be attending, yes?” Blaine turned up his nose in confusion as Kurt’s face blanched, colour draining before pink bled across his skin. 

“Uh, yeah, of course. Why do you ask?” 

“Well,” Blaine said, “it’s just that I’ve met him and given his circumstance, I assume I’m to remain quiet on the issue? That is, does Finn and his buddies know about his...financial situation?” 

Kurt looked down at his hands, intent on inspecting his nail beds. “No, they’re in the dark. I would really appreciate it if you didn’t mention anything. Sam too. He just isn’t ready for people to come wise; a notion I completely understand.” 

Blaine waved his hand. “Don’t fret, you have my discretion. Tell Sam to pretend as if he and I have never been acquainted, and I will follow suit.” He stood up, smoothing out the creases in his slacks before collecting his messenger bag and novel. “You must really care about Sam to go through all this trouble for him. I admire you, Kurt.” 

Heading to the door, Blaine stopped and turned to face the other boy, who was looking distantly out a neighbouring window. Shrugging, his hoisted his bag strap over his shoulder and headed towards the cafeteria. 

If Blaine had stayed for a second more, he would have heard Kurt’s whispered accession of, “I really do.” 

 

\---

 

Blaine arrived promptly at 6:30 pm on the Hummel-Hudson doorstep, carpet bag and pillow in hand. His carryon contained the quintessential necessities for a teenage boy sleepover, plus some board games in the event the guys grew tired of alternating marathon rounds of _Black Ops_ and _Halo_. Besides, Blaine kicked ass at _Hedbanz_ and would never miss an opportunity to show off for Kurt’s old friends. 

He rang the doorbell and patiently waited a couple beats before a _very_ tall boy opened the door, frowning in confusion. 

“Um, can I help you?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. Blaine shuffled his pillow underneath his arm, sticking out his hand in a friendly manner. 

“I’m Blaine Anderson, Kurt’s friend from Dalton. And you must be,” he trailed off, waving his hand to indicate that the boy should accept. 

“Oh, I’m Finn!” A grin spread across his face as he eagerly shook Blaine’s palm. “I”m Kurt’s brother. No, yeah, totally forgot he invited someone from his prep school here. Sorry dude. But, I hope you like pizza because we ordered a fuckton of it.” 

Blaine smiled, releasing Finn’s hand and following him through the threshold of the doorway. “Am I early? I apologize, but it takes about an hour and a half to travel here from my house, so I had my mother drop me off sooner rather than later.” He gingerly toed off his shoes, accepting Finn’s motion to take his sleeping supplies. 

Finn tossed Blaine’s bag and pillow onto the nearby sofa in the living room and led him towards the basement. “Nah, man, don’t worry about it. Kurt’s here, _duh_ , but a couple guys from glee are too. Has Kurt mentioned Artie or Sam before, ‘cause they’re downstairs.” 

A knowing smile crept across Blaine’s lips at the mentioning of Sam’s name. Being aloof, he answered, “I think in passing he’s mentioned them, yes. Truth be told he mostly talks about you and a couple of the girls from glee.” 

"Sweet, he talks about me? All right!" Preening, Finn opened the basement door and waved Blaine down the stairs. “I’m just gonna wait up here for Mike and Puck to arrive and then we can start doing fun shit. Make yourself at home, man.” 

Blaine crept down the carpeted stairs, which revealed a brightly lit rec room decorated with black leather furniture. Blaine smirked, knowing full well Kurt had a heavy hand in the colour scheme and general decor of the room. It looked great, so Blaine felt at ease. Sam, and a boy he assumed to be Artie, were in the middle of the room, spread on the floor and playing some sort of card game. Kurt was sprawled on the couch, a glass of ice tea in one hand and _Vogue_ held in the other. 

“Uh, hello?” Blaine called out, giving a weak wave. Sam and Artie’s heads swiveled towards the stairs as Kurt peered over his magazine in the direction of the voice. 

“Blaine! I’m so glad you made it,” Kurt tossed his magazine aside, carefully set down his drink, and jogged to the stairs, bundling Blaine into a warm hug. “I take it you met Finn upstairs?” 

Laughing Blaine separated away and strode towards Artie and Sam. “Yes, it’d be kinda hard to miss him. I’m Blaine,” he said to the two boys, smiling politely. 

Sam darted his eyes between Kurt and Blaine, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as Artie offered introductions on both their behalves. When Sam heard his name, he very awkwardly nodded at Blaine, pretending to be unfamiliar with the other boy. Truthfully, it made Blaine uncomfortable on Sam’s behalf -- he truly didn’t know how to be subtle, not one surreptitious bone in his body. 

“So,” Kurt said, attempting to smooth out the embarrassing encounter, “would you like something to drink? An early start on the pizza, maybe?” 

Giving a dismissive wave, Blaine plopped onto the couch. “I’m alright, thanks. Let’s wait until Finn’s other friends arrive.” He motioned for Kurt to join him and the two started an animated chat regarding Dalton’s new cafeteria policies. 

“I, for one, am pleased they’re ridding the cafeteria of all sugary treats and beverages. Those glinting soda cans in the vending machines were of the utmost temptation,” Kurt shuddered, pulling his legs under his body, crossed legged on the couch. “Good riddance.” 

Blaine turned to Sam and Artie, who were still engrossed in their card game. “What do you guys think, would you two survive without junk food?” 

Sam looked to Kurt and smiled sweetly. “I agree with Kurt. I mean, people don’t get my body by eating Cheetos and drinking Coke.” He dragged his fingertips across his abdominal muscles and flashed a dazzling smile in Blaine’s direction. “Sacrifices need to be made to look this sweet.” 

“Preach,” Artie chimed in, throwing down his cards. He gingerly grabbed at his own stomach. “I know that feeling, man.” 

Blaine fell back onto the couch laughing. Kurt’s friends were nicer than initially anticipated, joking around in Blaine’s presence and making him feel comfortable. He turned to Kurt, expecting a mirrored face twisted with laughter, but instead was met with Kurt looking shell shocked, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Blaine followed Kurt’s line of sight, which was zeroing in on Sam’s abs. 

“Hey, Kurt. Whoo hoo!” Blaine snapped his fingers in front of Kurt’s face, pulling him from whatever he was staring it. Kurt’s eyes bulged before they shot Blaine a piercing glance. "What's the matter with you?"

“I was just thinking, Blaine. About how badly I need Coke. Excuse me for a second.” Kurt stood up hastily, smoothing out his pants before he strode across the floor between Sam and Artie, darting up the stairs. 

Blaine looked to the end table, where Kurt’s half filled glass of ice tea stood untouched. He saw Sam looking uncomfortable, watching Kurt almost forlorning. Blaine just rolled his eyes -- Sam and Kurt are even weirder here than at that motel. 

He made idle chit chat with Artie, and a little bit with Sam, until Finn and two unknown guys clamored down the stairs, Kurt following behind as he tipped his head back, sipping soda from a can. 

“Hey bitches, let’s get this party started,” a boy with a mohawk yelled, tossing a case of beer on the floor. Blaine flinched as the guy bent down, ripped a can from its plastic holder, and opened it with a _hiss_. This boy had such a rough demeanor that Blaine was shocked that that boy would be allowed in the Hummel-Hudson household. “Who the hell are you?” he asked taking a sip of beer, eyeing Blaine once, twice. 

“He’s Blaine Anderson from Dalton,” Kurt answered, sitting back down next to him. “Blaine, this is Noah Puckerman. And that,” he said, pointing, “is Mike Chang.” 

Blaine smiled at them, weary yet confident. Puck broke off another beer and tossed it at Blaine, who fumbled it between his hands. 

“Right on, dude. Have a beer on us; New Directions to Warblers. But, we’re still going to fucking kick your ass at Regionals this year, just you wait and see.” Puck took another mouthful of beer and glared at Blaine over the rim of the can. 

“Okay boys,” Kurt interjected before Blaine could retort, “let’s put our glee business aside and make use of our parent free household. The underage drinking has already commenced.” 

“Kurt’s right,” Finn piped up. He went over to his Xbox and wrangled up four controllers. “It’s _Halo_ time. Who’s down for some King of the Hill? Blaine, you wanna have a shot? You’re a guest, after all. Well, like, everyone ‘cept for me and Kurt are guests, but you’ve never been here before so you’re like a super guest or something.” 

Kurt pushed Blaine off of the couch and towards Finn, who held a controller out in front. Blaine accepted, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the television. Finn passed two more controllers, one for Sam and one for Artie. Mike perched next to Artie, discussing which assault weapons would be most effective, as Puck sprawled on the couch, chugging his beer and yelling random comments at Finn to start the game and stop being so fucking slow all the time. 

Blaine scooched to make room for Kurt, who gracefully took a seat between Blaine and Sam. Finn placed the disc into the console and started the game, every boy selecting their armour colour, weapon of choice, and arguing over which map they should use. Once the game commenced and teams had been picked, Blaine and Finn headed off towards the far northeast corner of the map, while Sam and Artie took the opposite direction towards the hill. 

Sticking out his lip in concentration, Blaine’s fingers mashed against the buttons, only stopping to yell at Finn to quit dicking around in the Warthog and shoot Sam down from his sniper position. Mike passed out slices of pizza, the boys barely moving their eyes from the screen to take a bite. The smell of pepperoni and tomato sauce wafting from the slice in front of him became too tempting for Sam, so he heedlessly tossed the controller into Kurt’s hands, who giggled and shrieked about dying and ruining Sam's score. 

“You’ll be fine, man. Stand still if you’re super worried about getting shot. You at least have Artie on your team to help you if Blaine and Finn ambush you. I trust you,” Sam comforted, laying a palm on Kurt’s shoulder. 

Even though Blaine thought highly of Kurt and respected their budding friendship, someone as untalented as him at _Halo_ was a sitting duck, and he knew he needed to take out Kurt to wrack up his kill points. Blaine looked to the bottom left corner of the television, where Kurt was directing Sam’s character aimlessly, wandering in circles and walking straight into walls. Memorizing the scenery, Blaine charged towards Kurt, his character’s gun poised and his own fingers steadying against the trigger. 

“Kurt, watch out. Blaine’s gunning for you,” Sam warned, his words mumbled from his mouthful of pizza. 

“What do I do, what do I do?” Kurt squealed, his hands tensing around the controller. 

Giggling, Sam wrapped his fingers around Kurt’s thumb, controlling the joystick. “Go this way...no, Kurt, _this_ way. Okay, press the yellow button. Kurt, yellow!” 

Blaine glanced at the boys from the corner of his eye, knowing there was no possible chance Kurt would survive his attack. Sam and Kurt were too busy fooling around on the controller, leaving themselves wide open for Blaine to get a perfect headshot, upping his rank. 

“Sam, your hands are greasy from the pizza. I can’t focus, all I want to do is moisturize,” Kurt protested, pulling his hands away from Sam’s. In response, Sam gripped tighter, drawing Kurt’s body closer to his. 

“Do you want my help or not? Blaine looks like he’s on the warpath towards you. Blaine, dude, not cool to attack someone as helpless as Kurt,” Sam teased, reaching behind Kurt’s back and pushing Blaine’s shoulder in jest. 

Kurt gasped, offended that Blaine would target him and that Sam would think he’s incompetent. “Both of you suck,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes. 

From the couch, Puck clunked his fourth empty beer can onto the end table, belching loudly. “Yo, Dalton boy, can I ask you something?” 

“I’m kind of busy at the moment, Puck,” Blaine monotonously replied, his lip firmly secured between his teeth, brows glaring at the screen. 

“No, it’s important dude. This is like your bro-nitiation into the group seeing as how you’re tapping Kurt’s ass now.” He stopped when a sharp gasp escaped him Kurt’s mouth, his face contorted into a look of horror, completely disgusted. 

Puck, unphased, or maybe too drunk to care, continued. “We care about him, and if you fuck this up, New Directions will beat your sorry ass down.” Puck growled, his words slurring and stumbling together as he attempted to get his point across. 

Blaine immediately paused the game. He swiveled his body to stare at Kurt, mouth slack in shock. “Did you tell your friends we were _dating_? Kurt, why would you do that?” 

“He wouldn’t say that,” Sam defended, a bit too quickly. Kurt leaned away from Blaine, closer to Sam, looking absolutely mortified. 

“No, of course not. We’re not dating, we’re only friends. Puck, we’re only _friends_. I’m not interested in Blaine whatsoever.” Kurt glanced from Puck to Blaine to Sam before settling back at Puck. “Now, stop acting so drunk. And here,” he said, hoisting the controller into Sam’s hands, “you continue playing. I’m going to clean up a bit after you pigs.” Kurt began collecting crumpled paper plates, stained napkins, and empty cans and glasses. 

“Let me help you,” Sam offered. He threw his controller to Mike. “Take over for me, I wanna clean up after my mess.” 

Blaine watched Kurt round up the garbage and decided he too should help tidy the basement. After all, he did leave two soda cans discarded on the table. “I’ll help too. My parents taught me how to be an excellent house guest.” He stood up, joining Sam and Kurt. 

Sam turned to Blaine and clapped his shoulder. “Naw, man, you don’t gotta help us. Kurt and I are cool.” 

Scoffing, Blaine snatched empty boxes from Kurt’s hands. “Nonsense, don’t be ridiculous. Let’s head upstairs.” He didn’t wait for the boys to follow before he ascended up the staircase and headed to the kitchen. 

Blaine helped Kurt and Sam sort the recyclables and throw out all garbage, rising out the glasses and wiping the counter clean. 

Kurt moaned when he saw the sink piled sky high with dishes, plates, and glasses. “Fucking _Finn_. He was supposed to wash these before everyone came over.” He started stacking the dishes onto the counter, plugging the sink and filling it with soap and water. 

“Sam and I can help you with those, Kurt. You’re the host, you shouldn’t have to do this,” Blaine suggested. “Now, where do you keep your scrubbers and dish gloves?” 

Kurt shook his head, holding up his hand. “Blaine, please, you’re a guest. You and Sam should go downstairs and continue with your video games. If anything, you can haul Finn’s ass up here for assistance.” 

Sam hip checked Kurt from the sink, smiling coyly. “No way, dude. Now you’re going to let me put on those little yellow gloves and accept the wet dishes I hand to you with a dry cloth.” 

Kurt knocked his hip back against Sam’s, flicking a towel off of the stove. “That, I can manage.” 

Blaine watched as the two boys grinned stupidly at one another as Sam sprayed a stream of water from the hose attached to the sink into two tumblers. Why on earth would they be so excited to do dishes? It was probably a Lima thing, no one in Westerville enjoyed domestic activities like Kurt and Sam. 

The three boys finished the dishes at a rapid pace, Blaine eager to return downstairs to commandeer the highest score away from Finn or Artie or whomever was currently leading in _Halo_. When Kurt dried the last glass, he flung the towel over his shoulder and released a satisfied sigh. 

“Thank you, once again, for assisting me. You both really didn’t need to.” He gesticulated a wave towards the basement. “You two should run down before all the pizza is eaten and the beer drunk.” 

Blaine collected Sam’s rubber gloves, gently lying his own pair over Sam’s across a metal bar underneath the kitchen sink. Sam carefully placed the hose into the slot, but glowered when it didn’t click into place. 

“What the --” Sam started, cut off by a stream of water, that he accidentally let loose when he pressed the nozzle, that directly hit Kurt’s chest, soaking through his shirt. 

“ _Sam_ ,” Kurt croaked, peeling his shirt from his body, “look what you did.” 

Blaine laughed at the display. _Seriously_ Sam? How dumb can you get, really. “You should go change, Kurt. How fortuitous that we’re already in your house.” 

Sam, seemingly flustered, unzipped his red, green, and blue striped hoodie and balled it into Kurt’s arms, sheepish and conciliatory. “I’m so, so, _so_ sorry, Kurt. I know how weird you are about your clothes and getting them wet, or keeping them dry or whatever, but here, maybe this can help you? This is super warm and it’ll dry you off and stuff. So yeah, it was totally an accident, I swear.” Sam adopted the inability to inhibit his ramblings, blushing and swaying from one foot to the other. 

“Sam, he lives here,” Blaine objected, pointing up his finger, “he can go change into something else. Geez.” 

Kurt held the hoodie between his forefingers and laced his arms through the sleeves, pulling the zipper toggled straight to the neck. Giving himself a hug, he smiled at Sam. “You weren’t lying, this is ridiculously warm. Comfortable, too. Thank you, Sam.” He clapped Sam’s bicep, letting his fingers linger, before heading towards the basement stairs. “In the future, please try to keep all water in the sink and not on my clothes.” 

Kurt descended down the stairs, Sam bounding behind. Blaine rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue and tailgating behind. He sat on the couch, watching as the boys restarted their match of _Black Ops_ , supposedly bored of _Halo_ already, and allowing Sam to enter the game. Blaine decided to sit this round out -- his _Halo_ score was already shot, anyway. Pun _intended_. 

He cracked opened a beer because why the hell not -- this was a party, after all. An unsupervised high school party, ones much different than the ones with the boys at Dalton. Sure, they had the food and the video games, but normally the evenings ended in impromptu singing and charades sessions. Something told Blaine that Finn and his friends would not be up for a rousing game. 

After a couple more rounds of _Black Ops_ , Blaine finagled, much with Kurt's help, a few games of _Hedbanz_ , but he grew weary and disappointed when all efforts became futile with Finn and Puck's inability to guess the cards they were wearing. Puck couldn't even get Rome, for god sake. Kurt and Sam did fine, though, even if Blaine suspected the two were cheating. No one needs to look at one another that much during _Hedbanz_. 

The night grew long and once 2 a.m. hit, Kurt roused the boys from their catatonic states, ushering them into the bathroom to brush their teeth. "I don't care how or where you sleep, but for your own health and my sanity, brush your teeth. Flossing gets you bonus points in my book." 

Blaine hopped to the sink, humming "Happy Birthday" four times as he brushed, thoroughly attempting to rid any grain of sugar from the soda off of his pearly whites. When finished, he slipped on a t-shirt and off his slacks, opting to sleep in his boxers. He _had_ brought his own bedding. 

Artie opted to sleep on the pull-out chair, with Mike, Finn, Sam, Puck, and Blaine taking the floor. Kurt covertly implied that he wanted to sleep in his room, but Finn fiercely protested, forcing him to at least take the couch so he could stay with the guys. Begrudgingly, everyone shackled in for the night, shutting off the lights and becoming comfortable in their blankets and sleeping bags. 

Blaine laid on the floor, cocooned in his blankets and trying to make himself sleepy by picturing a Warbler’s triumph at Regionals, then Nationals. As much as he had grown to enjoy the company of most of the New Directions boys, he still desperately needed to win Regionals for himself, and Dalton in general. Blaine loved attending a prestigious academy, one that was known in the state for their national success. He imagined himself and Kurt taking the stage, killing note upon note, as an adoring crowd gave them standing ovations once the Warblers bowed in immaculate formation. 

Gently, he was drifting off to sleep when he felt something jostle by his feet accompanied by a whispered “ _Shit_ ”, rousing him awake. Blaine’s eyes shot open as he craned his neck, watching Kurt creep carefully through the tangled limbs on the floor, heading towards the stairs. He feigned sleep, not wanting to raise suspicion; one year in boy scouts, Blaine hadn’t been able to sleep, so he had stared at his fellow campers, envious of their slumbering state. It wasn’t until another scout had noticed and tattled on him to the scout leader, calling Blaine a “weirdo” that he decided he probably shouldn’t stare at other people while they were sleeping. 

He screwed his eyes shut, sighing sharply as someone (probably Puck) was snoring loudly mere inches from his ear. Frustrated, Blaine flung his blankets from his body, kicking them off his feet. He thought he might have hit someone’s leg in his haste, but honestly, Blaine didn’t care. Whatever Kurt was doing upstairs was distracting too, hearing his footsteps creak and thump from _right_ above his head. 

“Fuck it,” Blaine grumbled under his breath, rising to his feet and delicately making his way over the pile of bodies. So, so slowly, he made his way up the stairs and glared as he was met with the bright light of the kitchen. 

Hoping it was only Kurt, Blaine tip toed towards the kitchen because perhaps they could just talk, the two of them. Or, maybe Kurt was steaming up some milk seeing as how he had a penchant for the beverage. Blaine was thirsty enough that, if offered, he would gratefully accept. 

Instead, as Blaine approached the room, he heard frenzied whispers, soft creaking from the linoleum flooring. Painstakingly quiet, Blaine ghosted to the entryway and peeked in. 

Somehow, Sam had joined Kurt in the kitchen, and the two had their heads bent in conversation. Kurt was leaning against the counter, his fingers toying and twirling the drawstrings of Sam’s zippered sweater that he was still wearing. Sam’s hands were spread across Kurt’s hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles over the bone. 

Blaine was confused, to say the very least. Kurt and Sam looked so intimate, Sam crowding Kurt’s space as Kurt looked up at Sam through his lashes, red tinging the top of his ears. 

“We probably shouldn’t,” Kurt said, softly, “because how on earth would I explain that to Finn if he saw?” 

“But you go to school two hours away from me and I miss you so much, Kurt,” Sam replied, leaning in closer. “McKinley already fucking sucks, but then you moved and this is the first time I’ve gotten to spend with you _alone_ in, like, weeks.” He moved his hand to cup Kurt’s cheek, trailing his thumb against his skin. "Please?" 

“Sam,” Kurt breathed, before capturing Sam’s lips with his own. Kurt threaded his hands through Sam’s hair, tugging the back of his head closer and drawing their bodies as impossibly close as they could. 

Their kiss started off languidly and sweet, one that made Blaine fondly smile, before Sam pushed back hard when the moment clearly got to him, his hands gripping the counter on either side of Kurt, trapping him in place. 

Kurt’s eyelids fluttered shut, a small groan escaping his lips, when Sam slotted his leg between Kurt’s, rolling and grinding his hips forward. 

Blaine’s hand flew to his mouth at the display. He felt so perverse, watching his closest friend dry hump a guy that, up until this moment, Blaine thought was a solid Kinsey zero. He knew that he should slowly back away, slink down the stairs, and never mention this event again, but Blaine was just so fascinated that Kurt had been living this double life -- one that included secretly dating a high school quarterback. 

Dragging his nails down Sam’s biceps, Kurt mouthed along the column of Sam’s throat, smiling against his skin when Sam would cry out, only to be firmly shushed by the other boy ( _his boyfriend, I guess_ ). 

“Sam, you’re going to wake up all the guys downstairs, so you better shut up when I do this,” Kurt hissed, devious smirk crawling upon his lips, as he slipped his hand under the waistband of Sam’s pajama pants, and began to jerk Sam off, right in the middle of his kitchen. 

“Shit, _fuck_ , Kurt,” Sam panted, dropping his head forward, white knuckles clutching the marble. He spread his legs further apart, garnering Kurt easier access and thrusting into his hands. “Please, go faster. Just... _ah_ , Jesus.” 

Kurt giggled, silencing Sam’s incoherent mumbling with a kiss. “I told you to be quiet,” he whispered, accentuating his words with small pecks. “I know you can do it. Remember that one time at the motel? With your parents right _outside the door_? Come on, sweetie.” He slung one arm around Sam’s neck, crooking his elbow to stability. Kurt increased his speed, beaming when Sam pressed his chest flush against Kurt, canting his hips almost erratically. 

Sam leaned his head against Kurt's forehead, puffing out staggering breaths. Blaine was still just _watching_ and, god, he felt so mortified too. Everything was too fascinating, though. And, it wasn't even a sexual thing, honestly. Blaine was mortified, but he couldn't turn away. Much like a train wreck. 

Sam came with Kurt’s name on his lips, collapsing onto his boyfriend as he came down from his orgasm, breathing heavily and placing sloppy, wet kisses along Kurt’s neck and collarbone, mumbling nonsensical words of affection. 

“Can you move back a bit, my hand is trapped in your pants. As much as I _love_ this turn of events, I feel a bit...sticky.” Kurt cringed, turning up his nose in jest. Sam laughed, pressing a light kiss to Kurt’s lips before backing away and dragging Kurt’s hand out of his pants by the wrist. 

“Time for you now, though. Fair is fair, dude,” Sam winked, raise Kurt’s limp hand to his lips and tentatively licking the very tips of his fingers, wiping his come free from his skin. Kurt ellicted a deliciously grotesque moan, knocking his head back against the overhead cabinet with a definite _clunk_. Sam took three of Kurt’s fingers between his lips, staring straight into his boyfriend’s eyes as he sucked them inside. 

When his hands were free of any droplet of come, Sam pulled Kurt’s hand from his mouth with a wet pop and immediately sank to his knees, destroying all pretense and slipping Kurt’s pajama pants down his hips, nipping at the jut of bone before fully pulling the pants down, revealing Kurt’s flushed cock, swollen and impossibly hard. Sam closed his mouth around the tip, his mouth full as he groaned, and that was the point at which Blaine closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wall, back to the action. 

He felt weird -- weird being an understatement, probably -- that he actually witnessed Kurt jerk off his boyfriend, something so private and intimate that was just intruded upon by a voyeuristic outsider. There was no way in any circle of hell that Blaine would admit to watching the transpired events, mortification and embarrassment notwithstanding. 

Blaine heard what sounded like Kurt’s head once again smacking against the cupboard, hands scrambling for purchase against the countertop. 

“Sam,” Kurt moaned, voice high and breathy and hitching with small pants, “God, you feel so go--” He was cut off by his own sharp intake of breath, a slur of profanities following. Blaine felt his face, which was searingly hot to the touch from his own blush, and took a steady breath. He could easily work his way down the stairs and forget that he watched the messy hand job and the fact that he _knew what Kurt's dick looked like_ , but there was no fucking way he would risk making any noise at this point. Kurt and Sam were just so obvious and if they thought at any point someone was outside, listening, then there would be no living this down on anyone's behalf. 

Kurt panted out a long groan, the squeaking of the floor tiles accompanying as either Kurt adjusted his feet, or Sam shuffled on his knees. The sounds of Kurt’s laboured breathing reached Blaine’s ears, making him feel more at ease because everything was seemingly over, that Kurt had probably...climaxed. 

(Oh, god, Blaine had heard Sam and Kurt orgasm. He'd _seen_ Sam orgasm. Oh, god.) 

The kitchen became quiet, wet sounds of kissing the only thing Blaine could hear, besides the ticking of the living room clock. 

Testing his luck, he peeked his head around the corner and felt his heart flutter, a coo almost escaping from his lips. Kurt and Sam were just...standing there, holding each other with Kurt’s head tucked firmly under Sam’s chin, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. 

"I'm telling my parents in a couple days. About us," Sam said, running small circles across Kurt's lower back. "I didn't want to shock them because they've been through so much from losing our house, but I'm pretty sure they know. My mom sat me down the other night and asked about us, you know. She all but figured it out. But, I think she doesn't care? She hugged me for a creepy long time, brushing my hair behind my ears. But yeah, I just thought you should know." 

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed. "I'm so proud of you, honey. I can be there if you want? At least I know I have your mother's approval," he hummed. 

Sam moved to link his arms around Kurt's shoulders. “I miss you so much,” Sam admitted, faintly. He hugged Kurt closer against him, Kurt’s lips switching into a sad smile. 

“Me too. I’m grateful that my parents granted me the opportunity to have a safe high school experience, but sometimes it’s so painful. I barely have any free time with Dalton’s rigorous schooling, and you have work and glee and football and--” 

“You don’t have to remind me. I just wish I could’ve done more, you know? Then maybe you would’ve stayed.” 

“Sam, Karofsky _punched you_. You did plenty; too much, probably.” 

“I dunno, I don’t do enough. Like, the way you help out my family and junk. You didn’t tell anybody about us living in a motel, you didn’t make fun of me.” 

“Sam--” Kurt leaned his head back, looking Sam in the eye. “It’s _okay_.” 

Shaking his head, Sam continued. “No, like, yesterday Stevie came home and was like, almost in tears because he got his first ever A+ because of the project you helped him with and. You mean so much to me, Kurt.” Sam stopped for a couple seconds, just staring into Kurt's eyes, searching his face. He licked his lips before continuing with a shaky voice, “I love you so much.” 

Blaine knew that this was the first time the two had exchanged such an admittance of feelings when Kurt’s eyes widened, his mouth falling slack. Kurt ran his hands down Sam’s arms, tangling his fingers with Sam’s. He also didn't speak for a moment's pause, just smiling saccharinely at his boyfriend. 

“I love you too,” Kurt said, his voice breaking at the end. He pulled Sam into a tight kiss before chuckling against his lips. “You typically never become _this_ sentimental after oral sex. I seem to recall a lot more high-fiving and fist pumping. This difference is highly appreciated.” 

Sam snorted, pursing his lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just under the impression that you enjoyed it when you came, like, twice in a row from my mad awesome bee jay skills.” He flashed Kurt a wicked grin, clearing his throat. “And remember when you were all like ‘Oh, Sam, you feel so good, let me fuck your mou--' ” 

Kurt pressed his finger to Sam’s lips, shushing him sharply with eyes wide and face red. “God, you’re so embarrassing. Remind me why I even love you? Oh, yeah, you look adorable in my clothes,” Kurt hummed, thumbing Sam’s t-shirt between his fingers. “I thought I recognized this number from somewhere.” 

Pulling the hood of his sweater over Kurt’s head, Sam pulled the drawstrings of his zippered hoodie, tying them into a messy bow under Kurt’s chin. “Speak for yourself, man.” He leaned down and kissed Kurt sweetly, tilting his chin with his finger, before pulling away and looping their fingers together. “We should go downstairs soon. It’s getting kinda late, and orgasms always make me sleepy.” 

This was a cue for Blaine to take some sort of action for in a quick couple seconds, Kurt and Sam would run square into him and wouldn’t that be difficult to explain? Blaine look long, tip toed strides away from the kitchen, heading towards the basement doorway. He cursed the fact that he was unfamiliar with the Hummel-Hudson household, until he remembered passing a powder room from earlier in the day, before Sam and Kurt's water fiasco. Blaine flicked on the light switch, giving the illusion that he just about to enter. 

Blaine heard a gasp from behind, and turned his head, smiling sheepishly at Sam and Kurt, who were standing there, looking perplexed. 

"Blaine," Kurt said, voice tight, "what are you doing up this late?" 

Motioning to the door, Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? What are you two doing up, where were you coming from?" 

Sam cleared his throat, shifting the weight of his feet. "Kitchen. I was hungry, so I was rummaging around, and I guess I made too much noise because Kurt stumbled upon me here." 

"One hand in the vegetable crisper, the other I swear to god in the freezer," Kurt laughed, voice a bit high strung. 

"Uh huh." Blaine eyed the two boys. "Well, alright. I'll try not to wake you up when I come downstairs. Now, if you'll excuse me." He hurried into the bathroom door, gently shutting it closed and turning the lock. Blaine braced himself against the counter, letting out a huge, major sigh of relief. He was _this close_ to being caught for spying on his friend having sex, and there would have been no reasonable explanation for such. Blaine wasn't even into voyeurism that much, he swears. He heard the soft padding of feet down the stairs, causing Blaine's heart to level out a bit in his chest. 

Blaine stared at his reflection, rubbing his temples rhythmically. "Holy shit," he breathed, aloud. 

He was happy for Kurt, though. Even if he disagreed with the beginnings of a relationship with a boy who clearly was not out, Blaine was delighted that Kurt found a partner who loved him, someone who would do anything for him, whether it's punch a bully, or wash his dishes. It was adorable, really. Blaine grinned, hoping some day he too would find some guy to make him feel the way Kurt feels about Sam, and vice versa. 

Sleeping was difficult for Blaine that evening for multiple reasons, but he managed to accumulate about four and a half hours by the time he felt Kurt shift off the couch and head upstairs at 8 a.m. It was useless to try to fall back asleep, so Blaine headed to the main floor, hoping Kurt was up for good. 

Sure enough, the boy was once again in the kitchen, collecting a random assortment of food items for a breakfast. Blaine cleared his throat as Kurt was up to his ass in the fridge, moving items from shelf to shelf. 

Kurt pulled back and smiled brightly at Blaine, a carton of strawberries in one hand, blueberries in the other. "Good morning," he greeted, cheerfully. "Want something to eat? I'm making myself fruit, yoghurt, and granola." 

Blaine stalked to the fridge, eyeing the contents. "I think I'll have a glass of apple juice." He fished a glass from the cupboard, and poured the juice from the jug. "Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" 

Kurt stiffened, the squeaking from the plastic berry containers giving away his increased grip on the boxes. "Of course." 

Sitting down at the breakfast bar, Blaine took a long sip of juice before starting. "I wanted to thank you again for inviting me and trusting me enough to meet your friends. It's a big step in _our_ friendship and I'm glad this happened. In particular, I'm glad I met Sam." He watched as Kurt's mouth fell open, remark ready on his tongue. "It's clear he means a lot to you, in one way or another, and you should know that I think it's a good thing." He took another sip before adding, demurely, "Plus, for what it's worth, I can tell he feels the same about you. So, there's that." 

Blaine didn't want to give away he knew everything, but he deemed it necessary for himself that Kurt knew someone out there in his life approved of his relationship, was proud of him for everything he's done. Blaine prided himself in the way that he beat his message of "courage, courage, courage," into Kurt's brain, and the boy complied. Kurt had the courage to get a boyfriend and fall head over heels in love. Blaine positively preened, chalking up Kurt's happiness to his encouragement.

Kurt was still speechless, absentmindedly swirling a spoon through the yoghurt. "Well, thank you. I think. Blaine, did you, uh," he stopped, looking up at the other boy through thick lashes, bracing himself. 

Deciding to concede for the jig was currently up, Blaine simply answered with, "I knew from the hotel." 

"Oh." Kurt nodded, looking back down at his breakfast as if it was the single most interesting thing in the entire world. "Okay." 

Blaine chuckled, clicking his tongue. "You don't have to act so stunned, Kurt, I'm not going to tell anyone. I would never out a fellow gay. Like I said, I think it's adorable. Congratulations." He stood up from the breakfast bar and headed to the sink, rinsing out his glass and placing it in the bottom of the basin with a metallic clunk. "I'm so happy for you." 

Giggling, Kurt flushed a bright shade of red, dragging his spoon from his mouth. "I am too. I'm rather giddy. Ecstatic, even. I have a hot boyfriend who loves me and gives me his sweaters and makes me ice cream sundaes and tells me I'm the most gorgeous guy he's ever met." He sighed dreamily and Blaine could swear he saw the hearts in Kurt's eyes. Blaine closed the gap between them and hugged Kurt, long and close and luxuriating in his friend's happiness. Kurt let the spoon drop onto the kitchen table and squeezed him hard. "I'm just so happy, Blaine." 

"You deserve it, after everything you've been through." He pulled back, eyeing Kurt's face carefully. "This isn't a hoax though, right? Not some plan you concocted to spy for New Directions, or to give up the Warblers' secrets? If it is, I'll be ever so pissed." 

Scoffing, Kurt swatted Blaine's arm. "You're the worst person in the world, I hope you know this." Cheekily, he scrunched his face at Blaine, shoving the berry containers back into the fridge. He beamed before heading up the stairs, presumably towards his bedroom. 

Alone in the kitchen, Blaine moved to the fridge and snuck a handful of blueberries from the carton. He leaned, elbows back, on the counter, flinging berries into the air and catching them in his mouth, one by one. As the final piece of fruit landed against his tongue, Blaine smirked and said out loud, "I'm fully aware." 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I Only Want To Be With You" by Dusty Springfield.


End file.
